Getting Through It
by ApocalypsePony316
Summary: It's right after the Final Battle, and Hermione's having problems. The trip to Australia is not going well, and Ron's distant attitude is doing nothing to help. Will she ever get her best friend back?
1. Letting It All Sink In

**Disclaimer:** The day I come into Harry Potter ownership rights is the day Percy becomes my hero.

**A/N:** I know, I know...everyone and their granny is writing a story about the aftermath and marriage proposals and trips to Australia and whatnot. I'm no different! The pairing is, of course, R/Hr. As always.

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Getting Through It

I. Letting It All Sink In

The bodies of the fallen warriors had been placed against one long wall of the Great Hall, beneath a cloudless, bloody-morning sky. Voldemort's body had been laid off in a separate chamber, apart from the goodness of those who died resisting him. Contrary to the stunned silence that had filled the Hall earlier, the occupants of Hogwarts were released from the spell that had held them; they were now free to mourn the loss of family and friends, the young lives that would never again see daylight.

Fred's body had been placed at the far right end of the Hall; upon returning from Dumbledore's office, Harry had made directly for the swarm of Weasley's...and Ginny. She immediately fell into his arms, her fiery red hair draped over his shoulders like a cape. She would be all right...there was time now for healing.

Hermione, however, could not force herself upon the family when they so obviously needed their time alone. She stood for a moment at the entrance of the Hall, staring around...the trio had become separated in the jumble of people jostling around the Entrance Hall, and she could only assume that Ron had headed for his family. She wanted so much to see him, to talk to him alone...but once again, there would be time for that. She mustn't push it.

Instead, she set off on the endless trip through the Great Hall, headed subconsciously for the opposite end of the table on which the victims were placed. She wound her way through the endless mass of students, teachers, and friends, feeling oddly calm and numb as she approached the last two bodies.

Lupin and Tonks were lying side by side; whether by accident or something higher than that, their fingers were slightly intertwined. Hermione reached out with a slightly shaking arm and gently touched Lupin's other hand. His young yet creased face seemed peaceful, framed by his prematurely grey hair. Unexpectedly, Hermione felt a single tear slide down her cheek. She had always felt the closest to Lupin...indeed, she mused with a small smile, she could see herself as a direct parallel of him. Quieter, studious, unable to exercise control over the two people they cared about most...

As she took a slow step back, her gaze fell upon Tonks...her hair was once again a bright, vibrant pink. So she had been happy at death...probably anticipating seeing Remus. Death would not have been so bleak for someone like Tonks...merely another obstacle to overcome, along with her husband...

Tears were now cascading down her face, uninhibited, and as Hermione spun on her heel, stumbling blindly to get away, she found herself face to face with Harry. "Oh...sorry, Harry," she stammered, swiping at her eyes with a hand. Harry mournfully reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

"It doesn't seem real, does it?" he asked quietly, staring past her at the body of his father's best friend. "Right after they'd had Teddy...I just can't believe they're both gone..."

She knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, but Hermione didn't feel very comforted by Harry at the moment. Still swiping at her eyes, she made a move to walk away...Harry, however, said something that stopped her. "Hermione, have you seen Ron? Mrs. Weasley sort of wants them all together right now."

She paused, staring up at him. "No...I thought he was with you."

Harry cast a sad glance around the Hall, although without any real hope of seeing his red-haired best friend. "Ah well...I guess we just have to give him time. Let him come to us, you know? He'll talk when he's ready." Harry paused here to run the palm of his hand up under his glasses, wiping away the tears that were threatening to form. "Anyway...I need to get back to Ginny." He turned his eyes to the small group huddled around Fred's body, and Hermione saw the muscles in his face tauten. Seemingly coming to himself a moment later, Harry looked back at her and attempted a smile. "Would you like to come along? I think Mrs. Weasley would want you there too."

And she wanted to be there, Hermione decided, but not just yet. She couldn't bring herself to look Molly Weasley in the face...much less George. What could she possibly say to any of them, to make things seem better? No, she would wait...besides, it was for another ginger-haired man that she really longed to see first.

"No thanks, Harry. But please tell them I'll be there in just a few minutes."

Harry nodded, understanding dawning in his warm green eyes. He grasped her arm briefly, and then disappeared into the milling crowd. Hermione watched him go; when he was out of sight, she too began to fight her way through the slew of witches and wizards, her face set. She was on a mission. She was going to find Ron if it killed her.

Neville was at the very heart of a knot of giggly girls...Hermione was outraged to see that Romilda Vane seemed to be the ringleader. Neville, of course, could do much better than the likes of her. Perhaps she ought to have a few words with Luna...

A few seats along sat the three Malfoys...as much as she hated them, as much hell as those bastards had put her through, Hermione could not help but feel a slight bit of pity. And after Harry had revealed all that had happened in the forest, she now knew that Narcissa had been a key element to Harry's success. Even if her witch of a sister had placed the still-visible scar on her throat. At the moment she walked past them, Draco looked up and caught her eye. Hermione paused, gazing steadily back...the pale boy's face flushed, and he gave her a brief nod before averting his gaze. She sighed and continued to push her way towards the door to the Entrance Hall...at the very least, the lack of hostility and use of the term Mudblood was a start.

All around her were the sounds of celebration. Even those who had suffered losses could not contain their excitement. Indignation was boiling in Hermione's chest, so intense that it frightened her. How could these people, no matter how relieved they may be, dare to express happiness at a time like this, when there were obviously so many others who could not fathom ever being happy again?

By the time she reached the Entrance Hall, Hermione was in a towering rage. She pushed moodily through the exuberant mob of people...ignoring their hurt looks and comments...heading for the solid oak doors. The further she got, the more worked up she became. There was not much point in searching for Ron in her current state, she decided. Perhaps Harry had been right; he would come to them when he was ready to talk.

Finally, she reached the front doors that led out onto the grounds. The horizon was tinged with a reddish hue, blended with a pale blue and lime-green, the colors intertwining together so beautifully that they were certainly brushed by the hand of God.

Even the fresh summer morning did not have the decency to seem heartbroken.

She descended the worn stone steps to the sloping lawn. The landscape here did not reflect the glorious beauty of the sky overhead: long strips of earth had been gouged from the ground, and there were several dents in the soil large enough to pass for craters. Remnants of splinters, shining emeralds and general debris littered the grass. She knew that although it would take countless hours, hard labor, and determination from many people, the castle would someday be as grand and elegant as it once had been. The damages, no matter how costly, could be repaired.

If only it would be as easy to restore human lives as it would be to restore the Slytherin hourglass.

Hermione set off thought the rubble in an almost-dreamlike state, her feet carrying her automatically. After a moment, she realized she was heading for the lake, as though her subconscious was drawing her towards it. The second she got within close range of the smooth, flat surface of the water, she realized that she'd been beaten to the punch.

A lone figure was sitting in the shelter of the large beech tree that the trio had so often sprawled beneath. His knees were pulled up to his chest, coppery-red hair swaying in the early-morning breeze. He had not seen her, for his blue gaze was locked on a spot out over the water, on a vision only he could see...perhaps a different time, a different place.

Damn her stupid subconscious.

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**A/N:** I know there's not much action starting off, but trust me, it's gonna get much better! I'd like a couple of reviews before I continue though...if you please!


	2. Talk With Me Under This Sun Soaked Sky

**Disclaimer:** Do you honestly think this dribble could be mistaken for the work of the great JKR? Please.

**A/N:** Ah, for the love of reviews! Many thanks to you: xNymphadoraX, Padfoot and Prongs Gurl, and the-missing-arm-of-krum (I've always loved your name!).

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**II. Talk With Me Under This Sun Soaked Sky**

Hermione cast an anxious look back over her shoulder, wondering if she could get away without him noticing her. As soon as this thought occurred, she wondered why she was thinking like this. After all, hadn't she originally started out for this purpose, to find Ron? Why did she suddenly feel so nervous?

But what was she supposed to say? Unlike Harry, who likely knew exactly what to say to comfort Ginny, she hadn't the slightest idea. What if she ended up saying something completely inappropriate? She could never look him in the face again...

Just as Hermione came to the decision to back away and let Ron have some time to himself, her body came to its own decision: without even realizing it, she began walking hesitantly in his direction, feeling more and more nervous all the while.

When she reached him, he appeared to come out of the trance that had been holding him; he looked up at her, squinting against the brightness of the morning, and gave her his usual goofy grin. "Hey, Hermione."

She allowed herself to smile back, although she knew it must look weak and uncertain. "Hi, Ron."

"Well, go ahead and sit down," he patted the ground next to him as an invitation, and Hermione hesitated only slightly before doing so. Once she had arranged herself beside him, he allowed her one more small smile before turning his attention, once again, to stare into nothingness.

Perhaps this was all Ron needed, just to sit on the bank of the lake and clear his mind. She was a bit surprised that he was holding himself together so well, after the miniature breakdown she had witnessed right after they had realized Fred was gone. Then again, people mourned in different ways...she was clever enough to know not to push him, to just be there for him should he need her.

After about five minutes in the companionable silence, Ron once again seemed to come out of his reverie. He heaved a deep sigh, running a hand through his tangled red hair...Hermione realized she was staring and turned her face in the opposite direction, blushing faintly. When she once again turned to him, she was startled to see that he was watching her intently. She was more startled when she noticed that the piercing blue eyes that had once made her feel so safe and welcome were gone, to be replaced with a closed, cold look.

However, when he spoke the same familiar voice issued from his mouth. He sounded perfectly normal, although a little stiff, as he said, "Look, Hermione...about that kiss..." she tensed automatically, "...I just wanted to you know...I'm really sorry about that."

So that's what it was. She was bit surprised that he would bring this up just now, but maybe he wanted to go ahead and deal with it...didn't want to string her along or anything.

"Oh...okay..."

"I mean, I'm not sorry I kissed you!" he hastily rushed to correct himself, and Hermione felt the tight bubble that had formed in her chest loosen slightly. "I mean...I just wish it hadn't been in those circumstances. I shouldn't have waited until we were in the middle of war to kiss you. And...well, I just didn't want you to think I was doing it because I thought I had to, or anything."

Hermione was momentarily at a loss for words. She was also confused as to how he could be saying these things to her in such a tender voice, when the only thing she could see reflected in his eyes was a cold despair.

"Ron, I can't allow you to take the credit for everything," she made an attempt at a joke. "After all, I seem to remember you weren't exactly the one starting it..."

He chuckled slightly. "Well, I know I was the one that wasn't doing anything to stop it, so I'm partly responsible..." and then he trailed off, his eyes growing even more distant.

Feeling helpless and heartbroken, Hermione reached out and covered his hand with her own. He glanced at her, smiled, and laced their fingers together, squeezing. Then they both leaned simultaneously back into the beech tree.

Every few seconds, Hermione would cut her eyes sideways, studying him. She kept expecting him to say something about Fred, or at least display some sort of emotion. But whatever Ron was feeling, he was uncharacteristically keeping it to himself. After about ten minutes of slyly watching him stare off into space, she was now growing slightly more worried. At one point, she would have thought that Ron could overcome anything. And he probably could...but after all, fighting your way out of a storm of acromantulas and standing up...with a broken leg...to a would-be mass murderer required a different sort of bravery. Now he would have to call on more of strength of the heart, than strength of the body.

At the exact moment this thought crossed her mind, Ron gave a sort of involuntary twitch beside her. Looking now, she saw that his eyes were shut tight, eyelids quivering.

"Ron?" she squeezed his hand once more, feeling her heart speed up. She felt she should ask "Are you okay?" but the question seemed highly stupid at the moment. Of course he was not okay, and it would seem an insult to ask.

But in an instant it was gone. He opened his eyes...they were quite dry...and gave her a half-grin. "I reckon we should be getting back to the school, you know. Mum'll be pitching a fit by now."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow...this was most unlike him...and said, "Alright. If you're sure."

Ron got to his feet in one fluid motion, then took Hermione's hands and lifted her easily. Once on their feet, he nonchalantly took her by the hand as they started for the castle. She kept quiet as the walked, noting right off the clamminess of his hands. He would feel _so_ much better if he could just release what he was holding back...

The crowd packed into the Great Hall seemed, if anything, bigger than before. Ron instantly began to lag, dragging his feet, so Hermione latched onto him tighter as she eased her way toward Harry and the group of Weasleys. Molly's eyes were still puffy and red, although she was no longer sobbing openly. Harry had a steadying arm around Ginny's shoulders, and Percy was talking to George in a quiet, calming voice. It was a real mark of the situation, to see that George was listening. The entire family bore signs of crying...all except Ron, that is.

As they reached them, Mrs. Weasley looked up and gave them a watery smile. "Hello, Hermione dear. Ron," she walked over to her youngest son and pulled him into a tight hug. He stood stiffly, patting his mother on the back, until she released him.

"We really need to be getting back home," Mrs. Weasley told them, wiping her eyes on her cloak. "And get out of the way...while...w-while they sort things out here," and she threw a grief-stricken look at her twin son, whose face was still peaceful with laughter. She was once again overtaken by the harsh reality that he would never again entertain them with his many jokes...she collapsed into a fresh wave of tears. Supporting her, Arthur glanced back at the rest of the clan, saying quietly, "Don't hang around here too long, kids. We need to be getting back to the Burrow," and he directed his wife carefully to the front doors.

None of them really wanted to linger: Ginny, indeed, took off through the crowd, sobbing, with Harry at her heels. After one last prolonged look, George was steered out of the Hall by Percy; Bill and Fleur had already departed for the Burrow.

Now just Ron and Hermione remained; not willing to leave until she had said a proper good-bye, Hermione approached Fred slowly, reaching out to touch his hand just as she had Lupin's. Ron stayed well back; when she turned back to him, she noticed that his eyes were on the wall opposite.

"Don't think of this as the ending, Ron," she said softly. "After all, he's not gone forever...you'll see him again one day. All of you will."

Ron dragged his eyes off the wall long enough to give her a fake, strained smile. "I know." Without another word, he reached out for her hand and began pushing his way through the throng of people. Hermione, watching over her shoulder, noticed a reasonably large group of students pause by Fred's body...then all at once, the wailing began.

How peculiar that complete strangers...some, after all, knew Fred only as a legend from the days of Umbridge...could express their sorrow so easily, and Ron was trapped inside his head, unable to escape his torment.

This was her last thought as they passed the boundaries of the winged boars, and Disapparated from the sun-washed lawns.

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**A/N:** Okay, now that I've got it set up...the chapters, I hope, will start getting longer. And I'd like at least three reviews between posts...how else will I train you people?


	3. A Dry Eyed Goodbye

**Disclaimer: Of course I don't own this story. What kind of author would kill her favorite character? **

**A/N: I guess I'm really saying good-bye to Fred as well, so I put a lot into this chapter. I really hope you guys enjoy it. **

**III. A Dry-Eyed Goodbye **

Hermione strolled down the garden path at the Burrow, her hand lightly grazing the white wooden fence that ran alongside. It had been three days since the Final Battle...Fred's funeral was being held later that afternoon, in the small and secluded graveyard that many other members of the Weasley family had been laid to rest in. The day had dawned bright and breezy, with buckets of sunshine washing the countryside in a pale, warm glow.

She paused at the far end of the garden, leaning against the trunk of one of the many gnarled trees that decorated the Weasley property. It didn't seem fair, somehow, that it had turned out to be such a beautiful day. Had the weather been a reflection of the mood inside the Burrow, then there would have been death-black clouds rolling across the sky, a torrential rainfall pouring down to wash away any last slivers of hope and happiness.

Then again, it was unlikely Fred would have had any part of that. Darkness and despair had hardly been his strong points, after all...

"Hermione?"

Startled, she whirled around, her hand automatically going for her wand. It took her a moment to relax, to realize that the person in front of her was a very small threat. He took one look at the wand in her hand and allowed himself to smile...a very rare occurrence these past few days. "Going to do me in, were you?"

Heart still beating madly, although now for a very different reason, she forced her voice back into a measured tone. "Don't be silly, Ronald...constant vigilance, you know."

Ron did not even flinch at the reference to Alastor Moody, but instead came to stand directly beside her, leaning against the tree trunk. "I don't suppose you've seen Ginny, have you? I don't think Mum's seen her since breakfast, and she wants to have a word with her about...well, about later on today."

Hermione took a second before answering, allowing herself to look him over carefully; he struck a highly-impressive figure in his sleek midnight-blue dress robes, lanky frame slouched against the tree and framed in the morning sunlight. It was only on close inspection would one notice the dark circles under his eyes, or the stiffness of his back and shoulders.

"Hermione?" apparently he had noticed that she was taking a bit longer than necessary to answer. A rare and welcome grin was suddenly plastered onto his freckled face. "See something you like?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed, feeling that if she didn't she would surely break down and cry. "Of course, Ron...why else do you think I keep you around? As for Ginny," her voice lost its teasing lilt, "I heard her saying something about taking a walk in the meadow...with Harry." She added the last part casually, and then glanced slyly at him for a reaction. The realization that something was going on between his sister and best friend would likely not do much good for Ron's mood, judging from past events.

Sure enough, for a brief moment the old fire blazed in those sapphire eyes...perhaps he was remembering back to this time last summer, when they had _accidentally _burst in as Ginny tried to give Harry his birthday present. Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone; the curtain had once again fallen across Ron's face, leaving his expression quite impassive. Hermione's heart ached, and she longed for nothing more than to take Ron by the shoulders and shake him, to somehow bring him back into himself, to get rid of this damn shell he had put up to block himself from the rest of the world...

"Alright...well, I guess I'd better go tell Mum where she's got to, so she won't panic. Thanks, Hermione," and he reached out and gave her arm a quick pat before turning back for the house.

She had to hold herself together; she couldn't fall apart in his presence and add more stress to the now-towering pile he now had. He didn't realize how she felt...he had too much to deal with at the moment; she had to keep a strong front for his sake...

"You're welcome," she meant for it to sound light, even cheerful. However, it came out in an anguished whisper; she felt shame coloring her face as she noticed the sob hidden within the words...at least it had been too quiet for him to hear, he wouldn't know...

Wrong again.

Ron stopped in the middle of the path, his back rigid. He turned back to her, his eyes locking immediately with hers instead of some random point over her shoulder, as was his latest custom. For the first time that day, his expression softened noticeably; he took a step back towards her, reaching out once again and gently touching her arm. This time, Hermione felt the wall inside steadily crumbling; she could not stop tears from glistening in her eyes, although she managed to keep them from falling. Ron moved a step closer, taking his hand off her arm and tenderly cupping her cheek. "It's all going to be all right, Hermione," he whispered. Then he leaned forward and placed an unexpected, feather-light kiss on her forehead. With a final squeeze of her hand, he turned and beat a fast path to the Burrow, though not fast enough to hide his steadily-reddening ears.

Hermione leaned against the tree trunk, feeling numbness settling somewhere in the vicinity of her kneecaps. Tears were now traveling determinedly down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. Wasn't _she _supposed to be the one telling _him _that everything was going to be all right? How could it be that _he_ was comforting _her_?

Ron's behavior over the past couple of days had been nothing if not worrisome. He spent a fair amount of time shut up in his room. Admittedly, George had done this as well, but at dinner the previous night he had made the announcement that he was done moping about, that it would be an insult to Fred's memory to keep going like this. Molly had dissolved in a flood of tears, and Bill had clapped his younger brother on the back, his own eyes moist. Ron had kept his eyes on his plate and said nothing.

However, there were other more promising signs. Although he was not up to much conversation...or indeed, being around people at all...Hermione recognized there were a few occasions when Ron had actively sought her out. They had not done much talking, but what little discussion there was had been very heartfelt. He had also taken to wandering out into the garden where she liked to read, and would sit beside her on the stone bench for hours on end, absentmindedly stroking her arm or shoulder while he disappeared into his own mind.

Harry had informed her that he had managed to get a nice conversation out of Ron as well, so that had given her a tiny flare of hope.

Hope seemed a worthless prospect now, though, with Fred's funeral looming ever nearer. It was as though everything was leading up to this, and afterwards all of them would be lost...she would lose Ron completely, as Harry would Ginny.

Hermione stood up straight, shaking her head firmly to rid herself of these depressing thoughts. They just had to take things one step at a time, that was it. It was all they could do.

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The graveyard in which Fred was being laid to rest was not far from the Burrow; it was located in the shelter of several towering trees, about a fifteen minute walk away. The pleasant weather from the morning had persisted, and the only noise marring the still silence was the occasional twittering of a bird overhead.

Hermione had dressed in the best robes she owned; they were a thick black satin, uncomfortably warm in the humid summer evening. As the Weasley party trooped through the grassy meadow, she pushed her thick bangs impatiently from her eyes, and then took a better grip on the scented white lilies she was carrying. Just ahead, Ginny was also holding flowers, but was clutching them tightly and seemingly taking no notice of Harry's comforting whispers.

She and Ron were at the very back of the procession, something she was sure had not been accidental. Before leaving the Burrow, Ron had a brief moment during which he seemed to come back completely to himself; in the space of ten minutes he had cracked at least four jokes and downed a quick slice of apple pie...but there had still been no familiar glow in his cold blue eyes.

The glow was still not there, and neither was the light-hearted, joking Ron that had made an appearance only minutes beforehand. Hermione realized that in some sick, twisted way, maybe the funeral would be a good thing for Ron...maybe he would be able to finally let go and grieve for Fred the way he needed to. He couldn't keep the wall up much longer.

As they crested the hill, Hermione realized with a jolt just how many people had turned up. Witches and wizards were packed around the tiny cemetery. Many of them she did not recognize...probably many of the unmentioned members of the family...but most she did.

The whole former Gryffindor Quidditch team, including Oliver Wood, stood near the head of the pack, dressed respectfully in their Quidditch robes; a slew of Hogwarts students from Fred's year; Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Luna, along with what looked to be the rest of Dumbledore's Army; a wide array of teachers, as well as Aberforth Dumbledore and Madam Rosmerta; Hagrid took up a large section of grass at the back of the group, already crying noisily into a handkerchief. And then, of course, at the head of the assembly, close to the coffin, stood the twins' best friend Lee Jordan.

The family filed into a long row of folding chairs in front of the coffin; Hermione found herself beside Ron, in the very last chair on the end. On Ron's other side, Ginny was sitting stiffly, her back straight against the chair, almost leaning away from Harry's arm.

A fleeting vision of Dumbledore's funeral came soaring into Hermione's head; she glanced around, expecting to see any minute the squat little wizard dressed all in black. He didn't come; instead, there was a flurry of speakers forming a line by the coffin, each waiting on their turn to share. There were hilarious stories featuring Fred, usually along with George, told by several of the people: Lee had a particularly entertaining tale involving a prank once played on Professor Trelawney during Divination. There was a bevy of students who had benefited from the twins' many joke shop items, and they spoke of the genius behind those who had created them.

And then there was Nigel, who told of how Fred had comforted him after being forced to endure an Umbridge detention, where he was made to slice into his hand again and again. A small and timid third-year girl recounted her first frightening day as a first year, when she encountered a taunting bully with a pale, pointed face and sleek blonde hair, who shoved her out of the way the moment she'd stepped from the train. The savior that had come to her rescue...who had lifted her from the ground and jokingly suggested how she handle her tormentor...had been a tall, friendly seventh-year with flaming red hair and a quick smile.

It was about that time that the situation hit Hermione fully in the face; Fred was gone. This intelligent, playful soul whom she had always liked, though never really tried to get to know, was never coming back. Fred, who had willingly walked into danger for his friends and family; his last action had been a real reconciliation with Percy, a demonstration of the intense loyalty he possessed.

Fred, who had always been the first to defend her from Kreacher's many Mudblood mutterings...

...Who had always treated her with respect, despite her bossy know-it-all demeanor...

...The genius behind the Skiving Snackboxes and the irremovable swamp still occupying a portion of the fifth floor...

Tears were cascading down her face and she was afraid open her mouth to breathe, for fear that she would began sobbing too loudly. In the middle of the row, Fleur was already sobbing, her beautiful face screwed up against the sinking sun. Directly behind the row of chairs, Fred's old team members were standing closely together; within a moment, George had gotten to his feet and went to join them, where Alicia and Oliver were physically supporting Angelina.

She became aware of Ron robotically patting her on the back, his shoulders straight and his eyes locked on a tree behind the coffin. Unable to control herself any longer, Hermione turned to him and buried her face in his shoulder, as she had done this time last year as they'd mourned their headmaster. It seemed to take Ron a moment to notice she'd moved at all; indeed, he continued to pat her shoulder instead of her back, his hand never moving from that one spot.

His clear cornflower-blue eyes were dry.

It seemed to take an age for everyone to go up and say their piece. The audience laughed between their tears, and began to fondly recount their own memories of the mischievous red-head. And as the day wore on into twilight, the furiously shining-sun was replaced with furiously-shining stars, as though Fred couldn't bear the thought of his memory being honored in the dark.

But suddenly it was over; friends and admirers, teachers and family, all walked together out of the tiny cemetery. Bill, Fleur, and Charlie left soon afterwards for the Burrow...Molly stayed only for a moment, and then was carried, sobbing yet again, home by Arthur. George and Percy followed soon after. Now it was only Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione left with the scarlet and gold draped casket.

"It's still just so...surreal, you know?" Ginny asked quietly, as she stood well-wrapped in Harry's arms.

"I know," he replied, just as quietly, unwilling to say much more.

Ron had wandered away to a pair of tombstones a few feet away from where Fred was to be laid. Hermione, heart thumping a cadence against her chest, hesitated only a moment before following him.

Both stones were weathered, although the little plots around them were extremely well kept. Ron was standing, hands in pockets, looking down at the inscriptions. When she reached him, Hermione's eyes raked the names:

Gideon Prewett

Fabian Prewett

_In a true hero's eyes,_

_Death is merely an obstacle to be overcome_

It struck Hermione as familiar...and then she recalled the quote inscribed on the graves of Harry's parents: _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. _It all meant the same thing, really.

"They fought like heroes," Ron said unexpectedly. Hermione, who had been so focused on the tombstone, gave a little jump.

"S-sorry?"

"Gideon and Fabian...took a hell of a lot of Death Eater to bring them down," his blue eyes were shining, though not with unshed tears. There was an unmistakable pride in his voice. "Fred fought like a hero too, you know..."

Tears were once again sparkling in Hermione's eyes. She leaned against him, and was relieved when he did not pull away, but rather slid an arm around her waist. "Fred _was _a hero, Ron. He died fighting so that Harry could get to Voldemort. He saved all our lives..."

"Ron! Hermione!" Harry's voice echoed in the gathering darkness. "We're going back!"

"Coming!" and with one last drawn-out look at the graves of the Prewetts, Ron took Hermione's hand and led her after the others. She hung back, so that he couldn't see her face, and let silent tears fall, wondering why Ron would let none come at all.

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A/N: I didn't realize that writing about Fred would be so hard...anyway, you people like long chapters, well there you go:). And please review, because this chapter took a lot out of me! I like to know if it's well accepted before I continue!


	4. Limbo

Disclaimer: All belongs to the one and only, the great JKR

A/N: This is more of a transition chapter than anything. Sorry if it seems to drag a bit. And I'm rather upset at myself for the noticeable lack of Ron...anyway, enjoy!

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IV. Limbo 

Over the next few days, life at the Burrow settled into an imitation of normal. Bill and Fleur had retreated to Shell Cottage, although they made it a point to stop in every weekend. Charlie had returned to Romania to get things in order, before he returned to spend some real time with his family. George went back to his lonely joke shop, only to show up the following morning; the glaring absence of the brother that had been his shadow was much too hard to overcome so quickly.

At special request from the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry spent much of his time away from the house overseeing the reconstruction of Hogwarts Castle. As he was unwilling to leave Ginny alone for much longer than necessary, she accompanied him on several of these trips. On the occasions that she did remain at the house, she did little more than shut herself in her room, awaiting Harry's return.

Ron's behavior became odder and odder by the day. At some times, he would seek Hermione's company and stick by her side for hours, chattering in a distinct monotone about nothing in particular. Other times, he would hole up in his room and avoid everyone else in the house. Although she wanted nothing more than to have him open up to her so she could comfort him properly, Hermione was also somewhat relieved for the moments when she found herself alone; it gave her time to think about her own current situation.

It had been almost a year since she had seen her parents. No matter how forcefully she told herself that they were completely fine in Australia, and that she was of much more use here, her heart ached with longing every time they crossed her mind. At night, when her mind relaxed slightly from her other worries, she began to make unconscious plans of how to retrieve them...the best way to reach Australia, the potions she would need to concoct the draught that would help to instill them back their old selves...soon she was thinking about it at mealtimes, while she helped Molly with the housework...it was becoming nothing less of an obsession.

One bright morning about a week after the funeral, Hermione could once again be found in one of the many deep-thought sessions that were quickly becoming commonplace. She was curled up in a comfortable armchair in the living room with a thick book spread open on her lap, taking full advantage of the still house. Mrs. Weasley had accompanied George and Percy to Diagon Alley, leaving Hermione, Ron and Ginny alone; Harry had once again departed for Hogwarts, reluctantly leaving Ginny behind at her mother's request.

Warm sunlight trickled through the windows, illuminating the page on which Hermione's hand was resting. Her attention, however, was not focused on her book; she was leaning back into the chair, eyes half-closed, thinking...

She had to go and fetch her parents soon...it was getting to be almost impossible to concentrate on anything else. But how should she do it? Despite all their practice the past year, she did not feel comfortable with Apparating over such a distance...traveling by Muggle-means, such as ship or airplane, were options, although she would rather use them as a last resort...it really looked as though a Portkey would be her most reasonable choice...surely she could persuade Kingsley to set up an authorized Portkey, as he knew all about her parents...

Hermione started and gave a small gasp as something brushed her foot; heart hammering, she laughed at herself as Crookshanks leapt lightly onto her lap, meowing insistently. "You know better than to sneak up on me like that, you silly thing," she said fondly, scratching him behind the ears. "I sure did miss you this past year, though..."

"I wish I could tell you feeling was mutual."

Hermione gave another jolt of surprise; the book slid off her lap and landed on the ground with a thud. Crookshanks followed, scampering over to rub against Ginny's legs. She bent down and gathered him up, crossing the living room to sink into the chair next to Hermione. "I don't think he noticed you were gone, to tell you the truth," Ginny said teasingly. "He was much too interested in the gnomes...and Pigwidgeon."

Hermione allowed herself to smile as she watched the younger girl rub the cat's stomach. She had been especially worried about Ginny, almost as much as she worried about Ron. It seemed that both of them seemed to be dealing with Fred's death in the same way...in fact, Hermione realized with a sinking feeling, this was the first time she'd talked to Ginny alone since the Final Battle. When Ginny wasn't shut up in her room, she was usually out of the house with Harry.

With another painful flashback of the previous summer, Hermione asked tentatively, "So, are things going to work out...between you and Harry?"

Ginny turned to face her, and as she did, Hermione could've sworn she saw something flash through those brown eyes...but it was gone almost as quickly as it had come. However, there was an unmistakable smirk on Ginny's face as she said casually, "Well...I believe they will. I hope so, anyway."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief...if there was anyone that would get Ginny through this, it was Harry. She felt that the two of them belonged together, and now needed each other more than they probably ever would...

"Speaking of things working out..." Ginny started off, eyes glinting mischievously, "...what's going on between you and my dear brother?"

Hermione felt a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach, as though she had swallowed a block of lead. She bit her lip, focusing all her attention on her hands, which she was busy twisting in her lap; Crookshanks perked up in interest from Ginny's knee, and reached out a paw to tap the moving fingers experimentally. Hermione was at a complete loss for words...how was she supposed to explain to Ginny what was going on, when she didn't know herself? She thought back to the many conversations she and Ron had shared, both before and after the battle, and what he had said to her under the beech tree...she thought of the night they had left the Burrow, and fallen asleep holding hands...

"Hermione?" Ginny asked gently, a touch of concern in her voice.

"Well...during the battle at Hogwarts, after we went and got the basilisk's fangs...we...we, er...kissed. It was right before Fred...well, you know..."

She chanced a glance at Ginny, whose expression went from interest to sadness to indescribable, all in the matter of five seconds.

"Ginny, I'm sorry..." she hastily rushed to apologize.

"Don't be sorry, Hermione," Ginny said quietly; there was a hard, blazing look in her eyes, although she remained outwardly calm. "Fred's gone, and skirting around the subject or wishing that he was here isn't going to bring him back. I've decided maybe we all need to take a leaf out of George's book...after all, if he's brave enough to be willing to get on with his life, shouldn't we be as well?"

Hermione felt tears forming in her eyes, but willed them not to fall. She was still unsure about what to say, and was trying to think of a response to this when Ginny resumed their previous conversation. "So about you and Ron...I knew about the kiss, Harry told me..."

"You can't be serious!"

"Of course I am. Why, are you ashamed of it or something?"

Hermione felt a blush working its way into her neck; Ginny simply stared at her, looking for all the world as though this was a plausible explanation, that Hermione had honestly been displeased with what had happened...

"Ashamed? I'm the one that did it!"

Ginny perked up immediately at this bit of shocking news. "Really? Harry sure left _that _part out!"

"Yes, well..." Hermione said darkly, "You'd think he'd leave out quite a bit more..."

"Oh get over it," Ginny said impatiently. "We all saw it coming...even Mum's said something about it..."

"What!"

"Never mind that now! So are you two together, or what?"

Hermione opened her mouth, and then hesitated, unsure of what to say. Crookshanks, bored with the lull in conversation, leapt from Ginny's lap and went off to stalk a butterfly perched on the windowsill. Hermione's eyes followed the bouncing motion of his bottlebrush tail, stalling for time. After a solid minute of this, Ginny cleared her throat pointedly.

"Sorry...I mean, I'm not sure yet. We haven't exactly talked about it or anything...but I don't want to bring it up...not right now, anyway..."

She turned to face her friend, to find Ginny watching her with a sympathetic eye. "So...you're not together, but more than friends? It's almost like you're in limbo..."

Hermione sighed as she realized the truthfulness of this. "Yes...it's exactly like limbo."

There were a few moments of silence before Ginny said reassuringly, "Ron really likes you, Hermione. I mean, he's never said it in so many words...he's not exactly the type to put something like that out there, is he?...but I can tell. Harry can too...apparently Ron told him quite a bit this past year."

This new rush of information was startling. "Really? Like what?"

"Oh no you don't," Ginny said shrewdly. "You're not dragging me into this. I'd say just let Ron come to you when he's ready. It's just bound to take him...take him some time," and for the first time, Ginny's voice broke.

Sensing that a change of subject was needed, Hermione cast a glance around the room; the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the window was coursing through her body...she felt a fresh swelling of hope in her chest. It wilted only slightly as a thought struck her.

"Ginny? I've been thinking of maybe going to visit Fred's grave..." she paused for a moment, waiting for a reaction, but Ginny merely listened, "...seeing as it's been a week. Would you like to come with me?"

It seemed for a second that Ginny would take her up on the offer; she certainly seemed to consider it, at any rate. Then, with a small sigh, she said, "No thanks Hermione...not just yet. Maybe I'll go there later this afternoon," she paused, and then added with a sad little smile, "during my walk with Harry."

And then she was gone from the living room in a whirl of red hair, leaving Hermione sitting behind, staring out the window as she had done all morning, and ignoring the persistent meow of a hungry Crookshanks at her feet.

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A/N: Want to see what happens next? You'll find out...if I get a satisfactory amount of reviews:)


	5. Unexpected Encounters

**Disclaimer:** I refuse to be sued for something that I didn't create. Hence, the disclaimer.

**A/N:** Yet another chapter with no Ron. I'm starting to hate myself. But don't worry, there's about to be a chapter coming up with so much fluff it's a good chance you'll barf:)

To my reviewers: Padfoot and Prongs Gurl, kaet100, MaNdErS20100, mj-hedwig13, Ella Bridi, Darcy, UberFlump, eckles, mugglemegan, the-missing-arm-of-krum, Sofia, Mione-Girl.x, wasu, Creative Typist, JustRememberIWasRooting4UMate, and...

xNymphadoraX (Now is as good a time as any to inform you that it was your review after Chap. 3 that brought this one about. You made me realize that we _didn't _get anything on that particular relationship...so in a way, I suppose this chapter is dedicated to you!)

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V. Unexpected Encounters 

Hermione was fairly certain that she would be able to persuade Ron to accompany her on the visit to Fred's grave; however, when she tapped lightly at his door ten minutes later, she was answered by nothing except the faint hiss of the Wizarding Wireless. Remembering that the radio was his preferred method to induce sleep, she simply heaved a sigh, walked straight past Ginny's closed door, and out into the sunny backyard.

Just as it had been in the week since the Battle and Fred's death, the sky was a clear, forget-me-not blue, and the grass waved energetically with a brisk breeze: Hermione had begun thinking that the overly-pleasant weather was not a coincidence as much as Fred still doing his best to instill cheerfulness in those around him.

This optimistic thought heartened her, and her strides became longer as she made her way up the gently-sloping hill towards the outline of trees in the distance.

It should have come as no great shock that Hermione's sense of peacefulness was to be short-lived: as she crested the hill and the tiny little graveyard came into focus, she felt a surge of surprise as she caught sight of a lone figure kneeling in the still freshly-dug earth by the tombstone, covered by a thick red cloak. Feeling slightly caught off guard, Hermione slowed her gait to a near stand-still...she felt almost as though she was interrupting a very private moment, and wondered whether she should slip away and come back later.

It was at that moment that the mourner raised their head; the scarlet hood on the cloak fell away, revealing a wave of tightly-braided ebony hair. As Angelina made a move to stand, she reached out a visibly-shaking hand and latched onto the tombstone to support herself; as her fingers raked Fred's engraved name, she seemingly lost the will to stand and simply sank back onto the ground, cradling her head in her arms.

Hermione thought she had never seen anything more heart-wrenching. Unwilling to leave the girl alone in her current state, she walked...almost on tip-toe...to her side and lay a hand hesitantly on her shoulder. "Angelina?"

The older girl jumped about a foot off the ground before blinking her tear-swollen brown eyes and looking up. Hermione couldn't have been completely sure, of course, but she thought she spotted a brief mixture of relief and disappointment in Angelina's eyes. A second later it was gone, and the other girl had scrambled to her feet.

"Hi, Hermione!" she made a brave attempt at a smile, but it was a smile in only the most technical sense of the word. Reaching out yet again to brace herself against the hunk of stone, she used her other hand to swipe away a tear that was forming in her eye.

Unsure of what exactly to say or do, Hermione contented herself with patting Angelina gently on the back...she noticed, a bit belatedly, that Angelina was still dressed in the too-small scarlet and gold Quidditch robes that she and the rest of the team had worn to the funeral. Perhaps Angelina had felt...rather than saw...Hermione studying her, for she said quietly, "I know it's silly...I just can't bring myself to take them off. The last time I...I talked to him, he was joking about how much we'd both grown since we'd gotten onto the team, and how our robes wouldn't really fit us anymore...I know it's stupid, but it's the realest memory I have of him..."

Hermione could feel her about to lose control, and she said soothingly, "It's not stupid at all. It's something that was a part of him. You can't possibly feel stupid about something that made you feel close to him."

Angelina neither responded nor acknowledged that Hermione had said anything at all. Hermione bit her lip; she had noticed, fleetingly, a long while ago that there seemed to be something between Fred and Angelina. And at some point in the distant past, Ginny had mentioned something about them, just in passing. How far had their relationship progressed? Had they been in the same situation as Ron herself, stuck in a purgatory between friends and something more? Or had they indeed taken the leap into a real romance? Hermione felt anger at herself boiling over...another aspect of Fred's life she'd never been concerned with, an obvious question she'd never thought to ask...

Angelina chose that time to take a step even closer to the grave, away from Hermione's comforting hand, which she let drop limply to her side. The expression in the older Gryffindor's chestnut-brown eyes was unreadable as she once again let her fingers caress the name carved roughly into the stone...

"Could you do me a favor?"

Hermione jumped; Angelina had swung around without warning, her eyes blazing. She seemed to be steeling herself to do something, fighting with herself...

"What is it?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Eyes flickering between the grave and the ground, Angelina began twisting her hands together. Hermione, worried yet intrigued, was so busy waiting on her to speak that she did not notice the small, simple silver ring until Angelina had worked it off her finger and was holding it out in the palm of her hand.

Blinking in surprise, Hermione reached out slowly and took it. It was of a very simple design, yet somehow so breathtakingly beautiful it seemed to glow. Worked into the scarlet gem in the middle was an intricate A. Something finally clicked into sense in Hermione's brain, and she looked up quickly at Angelina. "Was this...were you...?"

"He gave it to me a couple of weeks ago," she said quietly, her eyes fixed carefully on a branch hanging overhead. "He finally convinced his Auntie Muriel to let me visit...we were going to tell the family this summer, after everyone was home..."

A sudden rustling in the woods behind them made her trail off; for a moment both she and Hermione stared into the brush. Then with a quick shake of her head, Angelina resumed, her voice low and strained. "He used money brought in from the joke shop to buy it...I've been wrestling with myself every day since he died, wondering if I should keep it. But I don't think I'd be able to, you know?"

"I'm sure Fred would have wanted you to keep this, Angelina!" Hermione said fiercely, trying to place the ring in her hand. "Seriously, you need to keep it and..."

"I really don't think I could," she interrupted sadly. "It would only remind me of him...and that I'd never see him again..." for the first time, Angelina lost herself completely; with a heartbreaking sob, she collapsed into the dirt, shaking.

Feeling helpless, Hermione placed the ring carefully on Fred's tombstone so as not to lose it, and gently took Angelina by the arm, pulling her to her feet. But within mere seconds, she had pulled herself together. With one last almighty sniff, she gave Hermione a watery smile and patted her on the shoulder. "Thanks, Hermione...but please, do you think you could give the ring to George? I think he should have it; I'd like it to stay in the family."

Hermione wanted to protest, but couldn't bring herself to do it when Angelina was so upset. "All right," she said softly. "I will." Before she could press further and insist one last time that Angelina rethink this, the older girl and vanished with a soft _pop!_, in a whirl of scarlet and gold.

The gorgeous day seemed much gloomier as Hermione set off back to the Burrow; even the usually-noisy birds were taking a breather. She couldn't help but berate herself slightly for overlooking such an obvious question that she could've easily found the answer to. All those times she'd spoken with Fred...if only for a quick moment...during the previous summer. Had she just not been interested? _No, _she told herself, _I was just preoccupied with the Horcruxes and Harry and Ron..._It was here that she blushed for no apparent reason. Imagine being engaged so young! Fred and Angelina must have really been in love...it was odd to think of Fred as a romantic, but after seeing that ring...

She froze in her tracks, moaning. The little silver ring was sill perched precariously on the grave marker where she had left it...why hadn't she thought about it before she left?

Backtracking, Hermione once again made the slow journey up the hill toward the little forest; the plot came into sight again...

She froze, not quite believing her eyes. At Fred's grave was yet another solitary figure, one hand resting lightly on the tombstone. There was no sobbing or tears as there had been with Angelina; he was standing tall and rigid, apparently staring at the stone. Even though his back was to her, Hermione knew there was no mistaking that white-blond hair, the haughty stature...

The unmistakable profile of Draco Malfoy.,

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A/N: Dun dun dun! What in blazes is Draco doing there? Review for me (rather good or bad) and I'd be obliged to tell you!


	6. Is This Remorse, Draco?

Disclaimer: Eh. You people know how it is.

A/N: Geez, it's hard to write Malfoy! Little slimeball...but then again, the line that Dumbledore spoke to Snape, "Is this remorse, Severus?" has just always spoken to me. Hmmm...maybe its just me.

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers! Chocolate to all of you!

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VI. Is This Remorse, Draco?

It was as though the mere sight of Malfoy had set off an internal Portkey: one moment she was standing ankle-deep amongst the swaying summer grasses, and the next she was hurtling backwards through time in a whirl of roaring darkness. She was once again in the blistering Room of Requirement, and could clearly hear Ron's muttered curses, feel the sweat on Goyle's unconscious body as they heaved him onto the broom behind them, and smell the charred wood, hair, and clothing as they rocketed upward and pelted towards the door. She felt her heart beating frantically against her ribcage as she gripped Ron around the waist, craning her neck for a glimpse of Harry...and there he was, soaring out of the door with Malfoy latched around his middle. Malfoy, the bastard who had brought Death Eaters into their school, and they had just risked their necks to save him! And for what? So he could go scampering straight back to the Dark Lord?

And now, with her sparking eyes locked on the back of Malfoy's silver head, it was this thought that suddenly reoccurred to her. Her memories seemed strangely detached and sporadic...Malfoy goading Borgin into repairing the Vanishing Cabinet; Malfoy's frenzied pleas with another Death Eater during the Final Battle; the ever-present sneer that never failed to grace his features...what right did this no good piece of filth have to be here, in the presence of Fred's final resting place? Hermione was growing angrier by the second, and her rage seemed to have rooted her to the spot.

It was at that moment that Malfoy removed his hand from the gravestone; sliding both hands into the pockets of his robes, he took a slow step backwards, though apparently never taking his eyes from the inscription. It was this movement that brought Hermione out of her fury-induced reverie; within the amount of time it takes to blink, she had stepped into that feeling of compressed darkness and reappeared in the wood beyond the graveyard, her reentrance muffled by several twittering birds. She moved through the forest lightly as a ghost, blocked from view by thick, leafy boughs and blossoming shrubbery, the slight crunch of leaves underfoot masked by the slightly-stirring wind.

She reached the edge of the trees and paused...squinting through a branch that was dappling the streaming sunlight, she was just able to make out Malfoy's profile. He had not moved an inch from what she could tell. Anger was still wedged in her chest, hot and uncomfortable...but now, there was the faintest stirring of curiosity. Surely dear old Draco had better things to do than hang around the grave of someone he had probably once hoped dead?

Slowly, Hermione raised her wand and brought it down to her head, focusing all her energy into a nonverbal spell. A sensation of cold drizzled onto her head and continued sliding down her body. She had transformed into a human chameleon and now blended perfectly into the foliage behind her. Steadily, carefully, never taking her eyes from Malfoy, Hermione picked her way out of the shelter of trees, emerging into bright sunlight; her body merged with the blue sky and sea green grass as the spell concealed her protectively. Quietly as a mouse, she marched straight up to Malfoy, pausing mere feet from him.

Hermione could not remember ever being in such a close proximity with Malfoy...indeed, she had never believed the occasion would present itself. Now, she was near enough to read his expression perfectly...no, _see _his expression perfectly. Because as it was, his face was unreadable. Impassive. There was no emotion whatsoever...not even his patented look of hostility. For perhaps the first time in all the years she had known him, Draco Malfoy looked simply numb.

But even as she stared at him, the anger in her chest flickering occasionally, her naturally observant mind began to unwillingly take in details...the grayish hue of his normally smooth face, the slight purplish bags that were forming beneath his blank eyes.

What was he doing here? The most logical reason to visit a grave...showing respect for the dead...was in this case so absurd that she didn't even bother to consider it. This was, after all, pure evil that they were dealing with. No matter that he had not been able to kill Dumbledore...no matter that his mother had inadvertently aided Harry in the Final Battle...they were all a den of sodding cowards, tainted with the blood of others, unfit to live among those who possessed unwavering goodness and loyalty...

Suddenly, working completely on its own and with no encouragement from her, Hermione's brain was unexpectedly flooded with Harry's hard, taunting voice, echoing off the walls of the Great Hall..."_Snape's Patronus was a doe, the same as my mother's, because he loved her nearly all his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realized...he asked you to spare her life, didn't he?"_

Severus Snape...Dumbledore's murderer, Voldemort's most trusted advisor, and the bane of their existence for six long years...had been capable of such a love that he had walked willingly, if not eagerly, into Death's open arms to honor Lily Potter's memory, to protect what he resented most...

If Snape, so buried in hate and the Dark Arts, had indeed possessed a heart and soul, then perhaps...?

_No_, Hermione suddenly thought savagely. _Not this time. _Too many times she had tried to believe the best in Malfoy...or at least, avoid the absolute worst. Too many times Harry had confided in her about the Slytherin's suspicious behavior and she had scoffed and waved him aside. Harry had been right; Draco Malfoy was beyond redemption.

The realization of this made her all the angrier; squaring her shoulders and drawing herself up, Hermione deftly reached up with her wand and performed the countercharm. A warm, tickling sensation and she was fully visible once more.

It was then that the most strangest of things happened; despite the fact that no more than four feet separated the two teenagers, Draco's eyes were so firmly locked on Fred's grave that he did not notice her. Amidst a flurry of odd emotions all fighting for dominance, Hermione crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow. They remained in silence...or for Draco, blissful ignorance...for a total of ten seconds before Hermione said in a tone of forced calm, "Beautiful day."

From Malfoy's reaction, one would have suspected that Lord Voldemort himself had just materialized; with an uncontrollable lurch, the pale boy collapsed to the ground, mop of carefully-combed blonde hair flopping over into his eyes. One hand went for his wand, but instead he managed to further tangle himself in his robes. It was only then that his gray eyes locked onto Hermione; his body froze.

"Granger!" he gasped, as two pink patches appeared in his gray cheeks. Immediately realizing how foolish he must look, he struggled to his feet. "What're you doing here?" he snapped accusingly.

Hermione didn't flinch. "I was going to ask you exactly that."

Wincing, still slightly flushed, Malfoy shook a few particles of dust from his robes. There was no sneering retort, no hateful glare...it seemed that he was determinedly avoiding her gaze. The oddness of this was not lost on Hermione. "I asked you what you were doing here."

The harshness of her words seemed to jar him back to his old self; he glowered at her, almost seething, as though they were back at Hogwarts and she had just discovered him out of bed at midnight. "Don't see how that's any of _your _business, Granger."

The number of retorts she could've thrown at him was overwhelming. However, something made her keep quiet; his sudden appearance had caused a flare-up, of course...but now that she watched him, she also felt a bit intrigued. His awkwardness and persistent flush suggested that he was highly embarrassed at being found. This was most surprising. Even more surprising was his lack of sneering malevolence, the haughty "I'm-so-much-better-than-you" swagger. He had even neglected to call her Mudblood.

So far, anyway.

She was sure that'd he would waste no time before uttering a violent curse or insult and then breaking for freedom. Once again, she was proven wrong; he scuffled around for a moment, still determinedly avoiding her steady gaze, but made no effort to leave. When the deafening silence became embarrassing beyond the point of toleration, Hermione cleared her throat and allowed her eyes to drift off to Malfoy and back to Fred's grave. Oddly enough, it was also here that Draco's eyes were firmly fixed.

"Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first, right?"

She wasn't sure where it came from, wasn't sure why she felt the sudden perverse need to throw his words back at him...there was not one small iota of her that believed it would hurt him, or even that he would be badly affected at all.

It was for this reason that she was most surprised when his already pink face darkened to a bright, boiling crimson. He mumbled something inaudible, which only succeeded in pushing her further.

"Not abandoning the old ways now, are you Draco? Your master wouldn't be very pleased...neither would Mummy or Daddy, I'm sure..."

"For your information Granger, they don't know I'm here, although that is NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS, AS YOU BLOODY WELL KNOW!"

Shocked, frightened, Hermione took a hasty step backwards. There was no point in her life she could ever remember being actively afraid of Draco Malfoy...but now, watching as his stormy-gray eyes darkened to near black, and seeing the heave of his chest as his breath was reduced to a gasp, she felt a tiny sliver of fear work its way into her gut.

"IT'S SO BLOODY EASY TO BELIEVE THAT I ACTUALLY HAD A DAMN CHOICE! LIKE I WILLINGLY WALTZED INTO A DEN OF DEATH EATERS, WANTING NOTHING MORE THAN TO HAVE A DEATH SENTENCE THROWN OVER MY HEAD! IT'S ALMOST LIKE YOU LOT OF SODDING IDIOTS ACTUALLY BELIEVE I _ASKED _TO KILL DUMBLEDORE!"

Hermione had said nothing, nor had she moved a limb. She simply stared, almost mesmerized, as the blonde boy turned back to the tombstone, his panting breaths sounding almost like sobs. It was the first time she had heard anything other than fervent devotion to the Dark Lord...

"That's a lie."

She said it so quietly that for a moment it was questionable whether it had been heard at all. But Malfoy froze and rotated on the spot, fixing her with a steely gaze.

"You couldn't wait for Voldemort to gain power," she said it calmly, although the anger was once again blazing in her body, setting her nerves on fire. "Just like you couldn't wait for the Heir of Slytherin to purge Hogwarts of Muggle-borns and Squibs!" her voice was rising, as though she expected him to start shouting again. "So don't try and play the 'poor, pitiful misunderstood' boy act! Harry told me what happened!" and in her mind's eye, she could see them...Harry frozen under his Invisibility Cloak, and Dumbledore sliding down the parapet, still offering protection to his would-be killer. Tears streaming at the thought of the headmaster, Hermione bellowed, "He offered to save you! He offered protection to your whole family! So don't tell me you had no choice...!"

"AND THEN WHAT HAPPENED?" Draco's roar sent several twittering birds squawking for cover. "NOT FIVE MINUTES AFTER THAT, HE WAS BLASTED INTO THE AIR BY SNAPE! WHY THE HELL HAVEN'T YOU MENTIONED HIM? HE WAS WORSE THAN ME...A FAITHFUL DEATH EATER, IN CASE YOU'VE SO FORGOTTEN! HOW IN THE BLOODY HELL WOULD YOU EXPECT ME TO LEAVE THE DARK LORD IF THAT COWARD COULDN'T!?"

So Draco didn't know...but how could he? He had not witnessed what Harry had in the Pensive...he had not been in the Great Hall when Voldemort fell. He could not have known that the so-called coward he was referring to had been quite possibly the bravest man they would ever know.

"Severus Snape was a hero," Hermione said softly. The time for screaming was over; her throat was beginning to burn.

Draco's expression had morphed from murderous to incredulous. "Some bloody hero..."

"Dumbledore's man, through and through," she interrupted. "And he had the same choice you did: fight against Voldemort, or fight for him. And he was killed..." she paused, feeling tears once again working their way into the corners of her eyes... "...trying to help Dumbledore. So don't make out like you had no choice. There is ALWAYS a choice."

Malfoy did not respond scathingly; indeed, he did not acknowledge her at all, but merely turned his attention back to Fred's gravestone, as though it was a riddle that he was desperate to solve. For once in living memory, Hermione was finding it hard to take her eyes off the haughty Slytherin. It felt very _strange _to be having this conversation with him, as though she were having an out-of-body experience...

"I lost friends too," he commented faintly. "Crabbe..."

"Yes, and quite a loss it was!" she broke in sarcastically. "I would feel quite sorry about it had he not been the one that almost killed us all with cursed fire!"

There was a pause, then... "I didn't know he had learned that curse."

"Well, he did," she said wearily. All energy was ebbing away, and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to return to the Burrow. Catching sight of the little silver ring glinting on the grave marker, she walked over and picked it up, sliding it carefully into her pocket. As she turned around, she caught sight of the curios look on Malfoy's face, as he had not acted quickly enough to hide it. "Angelina Johnson's," she told him briskly as she walked past.

As the reached the gently-sloping hill, she paused and threw one last glance over her shoulder. Draco Malfoy had, yet again, come to a complete stand-still in front of Fred Weasley's grave, his hands in his pockets as he stared at the inscription. Torn between impatience and intrigue, Hermione felt the words bursting from her before she could grab them: "Is this remorse, Draco?"

He did not respond, did not turn her way...instead, there was a faint whoosh of cloak as the pale boy turned on the spot...right before he vanished, however, Hermione could've sworn she saw a single tear sliding down his pointed face.

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A/N: Yay! Second chances for everyone:). Anyway...the next chapter might be a touch short...but yes, there's R/Hr fluff! Yay!


	7. The Almost Perfect Moment

Disclaimer: If you haven't noticed, I'm a complete novice. Just thought I'd clue you in.

A/N: I know it's been forever, so I made this chapter extra long! Hope that makes up for it!

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The Burrow was still deserted when Hermione arrived there fifteen minutes later; she stepped over the threshold into the kitchen feeling distinctly drained. She wanted nothing more than to stagger up to the room she shared with Ginny and collapse into bed. And she fully intended to...right after she checked on Ron.

He thoroughly ignored her soft knocks, and didn't answer when she called his name. Finally growing impatient, she opened his door and strode in...only to find the room empty. Feeling a bit embarrassed, Hermione backed into the hallway.

"He's in the garden." A slight tremor of surprise jolted through her, and then she relaxed. Glancing behind her, she forced a wan smile as George observed her.

She had not yet been alone with George since the Final Battle, and now felt very ill-equipped as to how to deal with it. She was afraid to talk to him in case she said something inappropriate...it was quite as bad as talking to Ron, although worse.

"He asked where you were," George said suddenly; his tone was casual, and he looked quite calm.

"Oh...I just...fancied a walk," she mumbled evasively. Understanding flitted through his eyes...it did not seem to distress him. "So, erm...I guess I should go talk to him."

George nodded absentmindedly...even though he was looking right at her, it seemed as though he was in a completely different place. Eager to get out of his presence (and feeling a sharp stabbing of guilt in the process) Hermione turned on her heel and made for the staircase.

She managed to get one foot on the topmost step when she remembered her promise to Angelina. Sighing in apprehension, she gritted her teeth and spun around to find George disappearing back into his room...

"George! Wait!" He paused, watching her curiously as she approached him, digging in her pocket. After a moment, she extracted the silver ring.

His eyes immediately flashed as he recognized it; slowly, he reached out for it, closing his fingers around the shiny metal. There was an awkward moment of silence, in which Hermione wondered what she ought to say...and then he closed his eyes, shaking his head several times. "He wanted her to keep it...I know he did."

"That's what I tried to tell her," Hermione said sadly. "But she was really adamant about it."

He nodded, twisting it around in his fingers. "She really misses him, you know," he said, almost conversationally. "I had some time to talk to her at...at the funeral."

Distinctly hot and a bit uncomfortable, Hermione shifted from foot to foot. George did not seem to notice, but continued fingering the little ring.

"Apparently they had a whole future set out...she actually had some ideas for the shop, if you can believe that," he trailed off, smiling slightly. "Women...always have to be in the thick of things, don't you?"

Hermione smiled gently back. "You can hardly blame her...left to your own devices I'm sure you and Fred would've eventually set the whole shop ablaze."

Still smiling in a dreamlike sort of way, George slid the ring into his pocket. "Well," he said heartily, directing his gaze out the sun-filled window, "I suppose I shouldn't keep you from my love-sick brother any longer," he allowed his eyes to drift back to the girl before him, his expression suddenly earnest. "Take care of him for me, will you?"

Swallowing forcefully, she managed a nod. George reached over and squeezed her shoulder, and then without a backwards glance disappeared into his room.

As Hermione made her slow way down the stairs and through the kitchen to the door, she couldn't help but feel that George was much stronger than they had been giving him credit for.

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It was now late afternoon, and the sun was just beginning its slow descent to the horizon, gilding the treetops of the small groves that surrounded the Burrow. The sky had turned a deep and blazing orange, flecked with streaks of indigo and purple. It was another beautiful sunset that should have been taken full advantage of, a blessed reminder that there was now something to live for, that darkness and death were no longer lurking around every corner.

It was taunting them.

Hermione had no idea how long she had spent at Fred's grave, and therefore had no way of knowing how long Ron had been sitting out here alone. She approached him from behind, pausing momentarily to marvel at the way his gorgeous auburn hair seemed to dance around him, despite the fact that there was no wind. Almost immediately after this thought crossed her mind, she shook her head forcefully, ridding herself of it. This was neither the time nor the place.

She knew exactly what would happen when she sat down; he had become as predictable as the changing of tides. There would be approximately thirty seconds of strained silence, in which he would continue to stare into space without acknowledging her presence. Then he would heave a sigh, glance over at her, and give her the usual artificial smile. Then it would be up to her to try and initiate a conversation.

It was rather starting to wear her down.

True to tradition, Ron didn't so much as blink as Hermione sat down on the bench beside him. Instead of simply waiting him out, however, she gathered up her Gryffindor courage, flipped her bothersome mane of bushy hair over her shoulder, and placing one hand on his arm, leaned over and gave Ron a firm yet sincere kiss on the cheek.

Whatever he had been expecting, it obviously hadn't been this; his eyes widened to the size of Galleons, mouth slightly agape as he stared at her. Hermione felt the heat rise to her face as her cheeks colored; after all, they'd yet to share a kiss since the Final Battle. The closest they'd come was the gentle peck Ron had given her on the day of Fred's funeral, and that hardly counted. She'd sort of hoped that he'd be the one to initiate it...whatever it was...when the time came. _Well there went that bloody plan, are you out of your mi...?_

The thought was not yet complete when Ron reacted with the swiftness of a true Quidditch pro...before Hermione had time to do more than move her mouth wordlessly, he had slipped a muscular arm around her waist, pulling her down until she was pressed comfortably into his shoulder. "It's nice to see you too, Hermione," he said lightly, and glancing up, she saw his mouth was crinkled into that adorable half-grin of his.

It had been such a long time since she'd heard him use that tone that she felt she might break down and sob. She settled for retorting in her most teasing voice, "Well you'd see more of me if you weren't sleeping your life away." The words were scarcely out of her mouth and she wanted to snatch them back...why, for the love everything holy, did she have to say that? No doubt it would just remind him of his depression, of being holed up in his room for six days straight...

However, he merely snorted good-naturedly in reply. "Hmph. I'll have you know I'm a growing lad. Sleep is a basic necessity, along with food and vitamins and..."

"Quidditch?"

The thumb that had been swirling hypnotizing circles against her neck now wound tightly around a chestnut curl, giving it a sharp tug. "Careful," he growled, his breath hot against her forehead. "There are few things in life I'm obligated to defend..."

"Ah. Well then, I suppose I should keep my views to myself, lest you hex me right here."

His soft chuckle was music to her ears, better than a chorus of wood-nymphs could ever aspire to be. His calloused fingers moved back to her neck, away from the soft ringlets he'd been holding hostage; the gentle pressure against her skin was making her dizzy, not to mention quite thankful she was sitting.

The sun had finally disappeared beyond the treetops; a deep navy curtain had fallen on the bloody-sunset sky, adding a perfect backdrop for the faint diamond-like stars twinkling above their heads. The darkness outside was a sharp contrast to the little cottage, illuminated with a warm yellow light spilling from the windows. There was a low rustle in the far corner of the garden, and then the fuzzy outline of Crookshanks darted past, his hissing audible even over the squeal of the gnome he was chasing.

And it was in the midst of this glorious fairytale that Hermione sat, nestled comfortably into Ron's side. For the first time in recent memory, her cheeks were not flushed with the embarrassment of having him so close; her mind was not whirring in desperation for something to say, so that the silence would not grow awkward. For the first time, she was experiencing a moment free of any mental or physical trials and tribulations. She was experiencing the perfect moment, here with Ron.

It was only fitting that it would be over before it could properly start.

She could sense the mood-change the instant it happened: the light pressure on her neck intensified, and the shoulder where her chin was resting tensed, as though preparing for battle. In the time it takes to blink, Ron's whole body had gone almost rigid, a sure sign that something was raging in that mind of his.

Hermione shifted, glanced up, and opened her mouth to ask what was wrong. She had not yet uttered a sound when Ron asked, "So...Ginny tells me you went for a walk up to the hill?" he said it very casually, as though he were merely curious. His taunt muscles, however, told a different story.

"Oh..." she was so thrown by his odd demeanor that it took several seconds to gather her thoughts. "Yes...I thought I'd go visit Fred." She was speaking about him as though he'd simply moved to another house, and she'd dropped in for a spot of tea. "And I...erm...well, I saw Angelina."

He made an indistinct noise low in his throat. Hermione chose that moment to chance a peek at him, her heart aching at the prospect of seeing his eyes so far away from her as usual. It was therefore quite a shock when she found that his gaze was locked on her face, his eyes focused intensely. It was almost unnerving.

"Uhm...what?" she asked, almost defensively...it was taking everything in her not to shy back.

"Did she give you back the ring?"

"Wha...yes, she did," Hermione frowned at him. "You knew about it?"

"Please," he responded lightly, leaning back into the bench. "George was practically bursting at the seams. He's not good with secrets," he added as an afterthought. "He's just lucky I'm a bit better with them...still, spose ol' Fred can't be bothered with that now, engagements and the like."

He said this with such an open lack of emotion that Hermione was astounded. She opened her mouth to speak, only to find herself at a loss for words. Before she could recover, Ron said in an even more casual tone than before, "I would've gone with you, you know, if you'd wanted some company. All you had to do was ask me."

Hermione was unsure as to how to handle this. Ron wasn't shouting...he hadn't even raised his voice...but there was a disappointment there she'd never seen before. "I...I was going to ask you, but when I knocked on your door you were asleep..."

"Oh." He remained quiet for a moment, then said, "I dont think I locked my door, did I?" as the words left his mouth, he removed his arm from her shoulder entirely.

"No...I just thought you might need the sleep..."

"Ten minutes ago you were complaining I was sleeping too much," he reminded her with a raised eyebrow. "So which is it?"

Hermione blinked and opened her mouth uncertainly. This was such a drastic change from the Ron of five minutes ago that she wasn't sure how to go about it. "Ron...what's wro...?"

"Nothing's wrong!" he spat out, a little too quickly. "I was planning on going to Fred's grave at some point and thought you'd like to join me, that's all..."

"Of course I'll go with you!" she exclaimed. "We can even go now if you like, its not that dark yet..."

"Forget it, Hermione." Ron slumped back with an unreadable expression. "I'm just getting sort of sick of people thinking I can't handle this...I'm handling it perfectly bloody well, in my opinion!"

"What!" her jaw dropped. "No one's thinking that! What in the world...?"

"So why do you all avoid the subject like a huge nest of bloody damn spiders? It's as though Fred's name is more taboo than Voldemort's these days!" and at the mention of Voldemort's name, Ron lost steam. His sapphire blue eyes, which had grown dark with anger, were now vacant and expressionless. He heaved a long sigh, as though he would explode unless all the air was expelled from his lungs. He looked utterly and completely disconsolate.

"Ron," Hermione reached out a hand and placed it lightly on his arm. "Nobody thinks you can't handle this, it's not like..."

"It's not important," he cut her off as he stood up; her hand fell limply to her lap. "Don't worry about it, Hermione...it's nothing."

"Ron!" she called out tearfully as he made his way up the garden path to the backdoor. "Ron! Come back, let's talk about..." she trailed off uselessly as the door slammed behind him.

Tears blurred her vision as she threw back her head and glared at the night sky. The air was thick with tension...it was horribly reminiscent of the night on the riverbank in Wales, the night Ron had stormed out of the tent and vanished, despite her desperate pleas with him to return. He had walked out on her just when she'd needed him the most...no, she hadn't forgotten. She hadn't forgotten the disappointment, the betrayal of trust, the hurt...

But it was going to be a damn cold day in hell before she did the same to him.


	8. Falling Apart & Coming Together

**A/N: **Alright...thought I'd spoil you with a nice long chapter! And don't be surprised if there's a bit of a delay on the horizon. Between and Fictionpress, I've got 4 stories going and can barely keep up with myself! But anyway...just a quick warning...if you're not careful towards the end, you may slip in fluff!

Enjoy!

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**Falling Apart & Coming Together **

Harry returned to the Burrow about dusk, so by the time Hermione reached her room Ginny was noticeably absent. This suited Hermione well, as she was in no mood to explain her bloodshot eyes and recount what had happened in the garden. Then again, the tension was so thick these days that a bit more couldn't make much difference.

The moment she reached the quiet of the little upstairs room, Hermione flung herself onto her bed, buried her face in her arms and contemplated whether to scream, cry, or a healthy combination of both. After all, how was she to know Ron wanted to talk about Fred? He certainly hadn't given much indication of it! Surely he must've known better as to think she wouldn't have listened!

She was completely angry...whether at Ron, herself, or the world in general, she wasn't sure...and instinctively reached out for her beside table, latching onto the little green-leather book that had resided there the length of her stay. As she flipped it open and turned to the fresh sheets towards the back, she instantly began to calm. She had never really thought of a diary as a particularly efficient way to relieve stress, but after being clued in by Ginny at the beginning of summer, she had found that writing things out tended to help. Sure enough, just the sight of her neat, slanted penmanship that filled the pages was cooling her off.

She wrote for a solid twenty minutes about anything and everything that came to mind. Fred, Angelina, Malfoy...mostly, though, she wrote about Ron. She wrote about his bothersome behavior, about how she always felt as though she were walking on pins and needles around him, about her confusion, and how nothing she was doing seemed to help...

By the time she laid down the quill, Hermione was feeling tons better. Ever the thorough student, she pulled her words back towards her and began to read...and the further she got, the more ashamed she became. How in the world was getting upset with Ron for this? She, after all, had never lost anyone especially important; her grandparents on both sides had died while she was still quite young. Of course, tears stung her eyes at any mention of Lupin, Tonks...oddly enough, even Snape...but she'd never lost someone she'd grown up with, a part of her family...had no idea the pain he was feeling..

At least the writing exercise had answered one question...she was definitely angry with herself.

Next moment, Hermione had sat straight up in the bed; holding the book steady with one hand, she began ripping sheet after sheet out of the little diary. When she reached the end of that day's entry, she flipped to the beginning of the book and ripped faster. The tearing sound was calming, soothing even...and then she felt angry with herself for being soothed, because she certainly did not deserve it...

"Hermione?"

With a squeak of surprise, she stopped...fingers still tightly gripping yet another page...and glanced over her shoulder.

Harry stood in the doorway, a towel over his shoulder and his black hair damp. His bright green eyes squinted at her momentarily before he withdrew his glasses from his pocket and put them on.

"Oh...Harry. I hope you didn't see that," she said, feeling her cheeks redden with intense embarrassment.

"See what?" he asked lightly as he moved into the room, coming to a halt by her bed. "See you destroy your poor diary with an assassin's coldhearted efficiency? No," he added, making her laugh shortly.

Suddenly he frowned, looking completely serious as he sat down on the edge of Hermione's bed. "What's going on?" he asked softly. "I've barely talked to you at all for a couple of days...is something wrong?"

She attempted a bright smile, although it came off rather weak. "No. I mean...not really," she corrected, as Harry gave her a shrewd look. She sighed, recognizing defeat, and said, "Well...alright, there is. It's Ron."

"Oh," Harry nodded with understanding. "I think I get it."

"I just don't know which way I'm going anymore!" she confided, sitting back on the bed and rubbing her eyes. "I want to talk to him, but I just...I don't know. I'm afraid I'll make it worse, instead of helping."

Harry's eyes were gentle as he told her, "Hermione, I don't think there's anything you could do that would make it worse. For all our sakes, talk to him. He needs you."

It was questionable as to whether Hermione had even heard the last part of Harry's sentence. She was sitting cross-legged, elbow to knee and chin to palm, unmistakably brooding. "Oh, I think there is. He's already mad at me," she saw her friend's curious expression, and admitted, "We sort of got into a row earlier. In the garden."

"Some things never change, I suppose," Harry shook his head.

"Yes, I suppose..." she trailed off for a moment, watching him thoughtfully. Then, she asked quietly, "Harry...how's Ginny been taking it?"

He tensed instantly, his eyes clouding over. "She's doing a lot better than before. She still cries, you know. Mostly at night," he halted, glancing over at his bushy-haired friend, forcing himself to smile. "But I think she's accepted it, at least."

Hermione nodded, lost in thought, leaning back on her hands. Harry sat there for only a moment more before rising suddenly to his feet. "Come on, Hermione...it's almost dinner." She noticed that a rather peculiar expression was dancing across his face...he looked almost frightened. But, as she allowed herself to be tugged off the bed and in the direction of the kitchen, Hermione didn't have time to linger over Harry's peculiarities...this had gotten way out of control, and the only goal within sight now was to have a real talk with Ron.

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The table was already set by the time Harry and Hermione reached the kitchen, and most of the family was in place, sans Mr. Weasley and Ginny. Hermione made directly for her seat beside Ron, who seemed deeply engrossed in the salt-and-pepper shakers and did not acknowledge her as she sat down. Doubt was beginning to trickle into her mind, but as she threw a quick glance around the room, she saw Harry...just about to slip away to the living room...pause and give her a meaningful look. As he disappeared, Hermione once again turned her attention to the redhead beside her. She was dying to say something to him, to force him to talk to her about _everything_...but she wasn't going to do it with an audience.

Mrs. Weasley was in bright, lively conversation with George as she transferred the food from stove to table; Percy appeared deep in thought, his fingers laced together as he studied them. None of them would notice if Hermione got her guts together and talked to Ron now...but before she could do more than nervously clear her throat, Arthur, Harry and Ginny appeared in the doorway, Mr. Weasley looking slightly flustered, Harry looking a touch relieved.

"Oh, there you are," said Molly brightly as her husband eased past her to sit down. "I was wondering...Arthur?" she stared at him, her kind eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, Molly dear," he returned easily, tucking his napkin over his lap. Hermione, looking a little closer, noticed that his face was quite impassive, although he was certainly reddening a bit about the ears...

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth as though she was going to say more, but decided against it at the last minute and merely bustled around to her seat. There was the usual crescendo of noise as the eight of them began filling their plates. Hermione, whose attention had momentarily been diverted from Ron, couldn't understand why Harry looked so nervous all of a sudden, or why Ginny was stabbing potatoes with unnecessary force...

"Excuse me, everyone...but I have an announcement!"

The whole table jumped slightly, turning their heads in surprise to Percy, who had just gotten to his feet and was staring around. He took a deep breath, threw a quick glance at George (who nodded briefly in reply) and then said importantly, "I've decided to join the team at Weasley Wizard Wheezes and help George run the shop."

His announcement was met with complete silence...and then Mrs. Weasley, beaming, got out of her chair to embrace her middle son. "I think that's a wonderful idea, Percy," she said thickly, reaching out to pat George's shoulder. Hermione smiled slightly at the peaceful look on George's face...finally, he was moving forward.

But the pair of them had hardly sat down when Harry stood up, his face both determined and anxious. "Hold on...I have an announcement as well."

The silence this time was even thicker. The whole table paused, staring up at Harry curiously...all except Arthur, who made a big show of helping himself to more carrots, keeping one eye locked on his wife. Molly, on the other hand, was glancing back and forth between Harry and her husband, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Harry allowed his eyes to flicker around the room one more time, and then said squeakily, "Well...I've, erm...I've asked Ginny to be my wife," he announced, to deafening silence. "And she's said yes."

Hermione's jaw dropped. There was a moment in which time seemed to freeze...and then there was a frantic shout of "ARTHUR!"

"Molly, dear, calm down!" Mr. Weasley said hastily. "They aren't getting married right now!" he shot an imploring look at his future son-in-law, begging for backup.

"That's right, Mrs. Weasley!" Harry told her reassuringly. "We're in no hurry...we thought we'd wait a couple of years, that would give Ginny a chance to finish school, and I can get a decent job!" Ginny nodded her agreement from her seat, clearly determined to keep her voice unheard.

Hermione was frozen to her chair, wanting to leap to her feet and cheer but a bit afraid of Mrs. Weasley's reaction. She settled for glancing at Ron, whose fierce blue stare was locked on his mother...

Molly's eyes had slowly filled with tears, and the next moment she had leapt to her feet and hurried to envelope Harry in a hug. "Of course it's a wonderful idea!" she sniffed, holding out an arm to allow Ginny to slide into the embrace. "Oh Harry dear...I have to admit it's a little sudden...but oh my goodness! I'm so very proud of both of you!"

"Thanks, Mum," Ginny said softly, her brown eyes shining at Harry, who offered her a relieved smile in return.

The uncomfortable silence broken, everyone stood up to congratulate the happy couple. Hermione hugged Ginny tightly, and then ducked around George and Percy, who were doing a sort of victory dance, to hug Harry. Her raven-haired best friend grinned tiredly at her, before asking in a whisper only she could hear, "So did you talk to him?"

Her predicament rekindled, Hermione heaved a sigh and peered towards the now-empty table: Ron had lingered only long enough to give his sister and best mate very forced congratulations before disappearing up the stairs. "Not yet," she told Harry softly. "But I will."

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Hours after the celebration had finally died down, the Burrow was quiet and peaceful once more. They had all retired to their bedrooms, full of good food and good news, their sadness alleviated if only for the time being.

As the moon filtered in through the curtains, Hermione tossed and turned on her small bed, trying to get comfortable. She had expected Ginny to stay up talking late into the night about Harry and their plans for the future, but to her surprise the younger girl had been the first to turn in. As the night wore on and the darkness deepened, Hermione gradually became aware of a series of sniffles coming from Ginny's bed. She sighed into her pillow, knowing what would come next. Sure enough, barely ten seconds had passed when the bedsprings creaked, and then footsteps pattered over to the door. Ginny would disappear to Harry's room until the wee hours of the morning, and then come creeping back to bed. It had become a nightly ritual.

Hermione flipped resignedly to her other side and stared at the wall, willing sleep to overtake her. Harry's announcement, the aftermath of it, and Ron's disgruntled reaction were all lodged firmly in her mind, refusing her any peace. What she wouldn't give to go back to the days when things were much simpler...

She blinked in surprise at the squeak off the hinges as the door opened. Ginny hadn't been in there for more than a few minutes...what on earth was she doing back so soon?

The floorboards creaked as footsteps moved across them. Hermione lay perfectly still, wondering why Ginny wasn't getting into bed...had she and Harry had a row? She was just considering getting up to ask what was wrong when her bed suddenly dipped. Before she had time to think, a large, strong arm had slid around her waist, accompanied by ragged breathing at her ear. There was no doubt as to who it was...that scent could rouse her from a deep sleep, make her weak in the knees, and alert her to Amortentia a mile away.

For reasons known only to himself, Ron Weasley was in her bed.

She had hardly opened her mouth to speak when Ron said hoarsely in her ear, "Are you mad at me?"

"W...what?" she stammered, unable to shake the feeling of shock from her midsection. "I don't..."

"If you want me to leave, just tell me. And I'll go," she noticed the slight quiver in his voice, and she could feel the coldness of his hand through her thin nightgown.

"Of course I'm not mad, Ron," she told him gently, tentatively letting her fingers ghost over his hand. "Why?" she added, somewhat guiltily, hoping Harry had not gotten to Ron before she could.

He expelled a deep breath, which coursed through his whole body. "Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if you were."

She wanted to disillusion him, to assure him that she could never, ever get upset at him over something like this. But somehow, she just couldn't find the words; she settled for giving his hand a squeeze, hoping he got the message anyway. Apparently he had, for the next second his arm had tightened around her waist, and his body was relaxing against hers. They lay like that for a few moment, in comfortable silence, before Hermione tilted her head back to him and asked softly, "Was Ginny alright?"

"Yeah," he whispered back, warm breath tickling her ear. "Course, this happens near every night," Hermione nodded her agreement, as she knew all too well, "...and since having Harry close by seems to help, thought I'd test it out for myself."

Hermione frowned in confusion for a moment before his words clicked. Blushing slightly, she increased the pressure on his hand. "Ron..."

"When are you going to Australia?"

The question came abruptly out of nowhere, and she was so taken off guard that it took her a few minutes to answer. "Erm...I'm not sure. I mean, I've been thinking about it, but..."

"As well you should be. You haven't seen them in over a year, after all," his head was resting on hers, so that he was speaking directly into her ear. "No use putting it off. Should be sooner rather than later."

"I suppose," she agreed, a bit bewildered. Was Ron trying to get her out of the house? Was it getting that uncomfortable to be in her presence?

"You'll let me come, won't you?"

Not able to bear it any longer, Hermione rolled over onto her back so that she could look into his face. His body had tensed slightly, but not enough to comment on. "Why?" she questioned softly, studying the eyes that were glowing sapphire in the moonlight. He shifted, looking uneasy, and she realized that he might assume she was asking why she would let him come along. "Why would you want to?" she added, clearing it up.

At this, he looked even more ill-at-ease; his gaze left hers, drifting all around the small room, scrutinizing the dark outlines of the Holyhead Harpies. When blue finally reconnected with brown, he appeared more ashamed than Hermione had ever seen him. "I guess it's because I've decided to stop being such a great, stupid prat and pushing you away at every bloody opportunity."

Hermione eyes flew open, her eyebrows disappearing into her thick bangs. "Ron!" she breathed, a bit reproachfully. "You're not..."

"So big a git that even Malfoy pales in comparison?" he cut in lightly. "I didn't say that," he told her in a fake-stern voice. Despite herself, Hermione smiled. Ron returned it, and then it disappeared as he said soberly, "But I haven't been...well...I haven't been _right,_" he tested the word out to see if it accurately explained what he was feeling. He wasn't satisfied with it, but Hermione seemed to understand; she nodded, bringing one hand up unconsciously to push auburn hair from his eyes. He said nothing as she did this, but merely stared at her through dark, serious eyes. Then he gave his head a slight shake, coming back to himself, and said gently, "But I've found out Harry was right...it's pretty bloody difficult to forego your best sense of comfort."

Beneath him, Hermione blushed; she was feverishly glad for the cover of darkness. She stared up at him, taking in his pained eyes, slightly-parted lips, and adorably-untidy hair, which was once again falling into his face with no intention of being thwarted. "Then...stop," she said simply, referring to his last statement, as though it could be fixed as easily as that.

Each set of eyes remained fixedly locked on the other. And then Ron blinked several times. "I will," he said softly, as a single tear escaped and slid down his face; Hermione brushed it away with her thumb, feeling her own eyes starting to water.

Hermione would not have been surprised if Ron kissed her; indeed, she was very much expecting it. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of her neck, fluffy strands of hair tickling her nose. They lay there for about a solid minute...the closest they had been since that day in the Room of Requirement...before Ron lifted his head slightly to look at her. "Hermione," he whispered, his eyes roaming her face. "I...it would be a little too bold of me to tell you that I love you..." Hermione's heart seemed to swell, threatening to burst into flames, "...especially since I've made it a point to live as indecisively as possible," he paused, heartened, as Hermione started to smirk...he was certainly right on that front, anyway. "But...but this is the closest thing I've felt to love so far," he continued earnestly. "And I just don't...I don't want you doubting it. Does that make any sense?"

The tears that had been welling in Hermione's eyes were now streaming down her cheeks. "Perfect sense," she sniffed, smiling hazily at him.

"Good," he said fervently. "Cause I was afraid you were about to boot me out of here, and I'd have to go back in there...with _them," _he emphasized the last word as though it made him slightly sick...which, it probably did. He shuddered a bit, and then brightened. "Still...I suppose we'd be able to convince Harry to move in here, yeah? And you could always take his bed..."

"Ronald Weasley!" she popped him on the head. "What am I going to do with you?"

He grinned...perhaps the first real, true grin she'd seen...and said, "Take me to Australia, for one. Right?"

Hermione barely hesitated. "If you're sure you want to go. And, of course, if your mum allows it. I doubt she could handle many more announcements."

"Are you kidding? She'll be reeling over Harry and Ginny for so long, nothing else'll stick in her head," he said matter-of-factly, draping one arm over her waist. Hermione automatically snuggled closer, drinking in his familiar scent. Sleep was now hovering over her; she vaguely heard Ron say something about going back to his room before Molly walked in. She opened her mouth to ask him to stay, just for one more minute...but then sleep took her. Ron, however, had never quite got around to leaving when he submitted to exhaustion as well.

And the next morning, as warm sunlight streamed in through the window, Ginny carefully closed the door and crept back to her brother's room, glad she wasn't the only Weasley incapable of sleeping alone.

-----------------------------------------------

**A/N:** And next, they're off to Australia!


End file.
